DOA
by Fairady
Summary: Life was perfectly fine until the dead started rising. Zombie!AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Zombie AU.

Notes: Dean's scraping by as a mechanic when one day the dead start to rise.

D.O.A.  
by Fairady

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When Dean heard about the dead rising, the first thing he did was change the channel. Not sparing a second to wonder why there was a horror film on so early in the morning when the news should be on. Then he'd finished his cold pizza and gone into work.

Fuck, if he hadn't been so stupid things would've been different.

Work had been a mess when he got in. Three guys had called off leaving Dean alone in the shop with a shit ton of cars and Jake who didn't know how to do an oil change without a manual. Dean had set the kid down at the front desk and told him to call the boss, Frank, about the call offs and to deal with any customers coming in. Then he'd set about trying to fix the cars in the order of customer douchiness.

Things weren't going so bad when one o'clock rolled around. Dean was debating the merits of taking a quick break when he heard Jake scream from the front. A blood curdling scream that made Dean freeze for several precious seconds as he wondered, stupidly, if the kid was pulling some kind of joke on him. The second scream, even more desperate than the first, knocked that idea right out. Dean paused long enough to grab the tire iron of the car he was working on out of the open trunk before running to the front.

Jake was on the floor, a small woman on top of him, and blood was absolutely everywhere.

"Hey!" Dean took two steps forward and yanked the woman off of Jake. Throwing her towards the door as he stepped between them. "Jake you alright? Jake?"

Dean glanced back behind him and felt his blood freeze. Jake's hands were around his neck, and dark red blood welled up between his fingers. "Shit!"

The woman regained her feet and Dean checked the urge to tend Jake. Turning his attention to the threat. "Listen, bitch-"

She turned around.

"Jesus christ," Dean recoiled at what he was seeing.

The woman had no lower face. No skin. Her lips, cheeks, and chin had all been peeled away leaving behind the bloody muscles of the jaw and a gaping skull grin. Her hands came up, covered in blood, and she reached out for him.

Dean reacted on instinct. He swung the tire iron out hard, knocking her hands away, and followed it up with a hard blow to her head. It connected with a sickly sounding crack and the woman dropped without making a sound. Dean stared down at her in horror for a second before the sound of wheezing reminded him of Jake.

"Jesus, Jake," Dean turned and dropped to his knees. Feeling the way blood started soaking in immediately. Jake was gaping up at him. Eyes ridiculously wide and filled with panic as he tried to breath around the hole in his neck. Dean pulled out his sweat rag and pressed at the hole, pushing Jake's hands away as he tried to put pressure on it without choking the kid. "It's going to be alright, you'll be fine kid. Don't worry."

He fumbled for his cell with the one hand not holding the makeshift bandage. Not paying any attention to the bullshit words coming out of his mouth as he tried to reassure the kid. As he lied to him about not dying. Dean dialed 911 with a shaking, blood covered hand and listened to it ring.

And ring, and ring, and ring.

"Fuck!" Dean snapped the phone shut and resisted the urge to throw the damn thing across the room. He flicked it back open and started to dial again when Jake went still under his hand. "Shit, fuck no. Jake?"

Jake laid still under Dean's hand. Eyes open and dull.

"Jake?" Dean dropped his phone and cupped one hand around the kid's nose and mouth. Desperatley feeling for any hint of air movement. "Come on Jake, don't do this to me! Jake?"

Nothing.

Dean sat back, hands reluctantly leaving Jake as he stared down at the dumbass kid. 19 years old and not knowing nearly enough to be calling himself a mechanic despite how much he liked to talk about cars. Hired more for the fact that Frank owed his dad a favor than for anything else.

Dead.

"Godammit!" Dean shoved himself to his feet and paced up to the front desk. The desk he'd made the kid man, and nearly shoved his fist through the plywall boarding next to it. His knuckles throbbed and he considered doing it again, but knew it wouldn't fix anything.

He reached over the desk instead and picked up the cordless phone. Turning it on he dialed 911 again. Half-hoping the endless ringing had been something to do with his cell. A hope that turned to tight panic by the third ring, and solidified by the fifth.

What the fuck was going on?

A scuffle made him turn around. Heart pounding as he realized he hadn't checked on the psycho-bitch who'd killed Jake.

The bitch was down still, and not moving. But Jake was.

The phone fell from Dean's hand, still ringing.

Jake looked up, ponderously slow, at the noise. At the sight of Dean he moaned. Low and guttural, blood foaming at the hole in his throat as he lurched to his feet. Dean stared dumbly as the kid staggered forward. Eyes still dull and fixed on him in an unnatural way.

"No," Dean broke free as the kid almost reached him. He darted to the side, towards the garage, and watched as Jake turned to follow him. Another moan making it's way through his ruined throat as he picked up speed. "Fuck no."

Dean ran into the garage, keeping an eye on Jake's progress as he looked for something he could use. Anything heavy. Whatever could be used to stop the thing that wasn't Jake from following him. Because Dean knew, without a doubt that Jake was dead, and that monster wasn't anything like the kid he'd known.

The creature stumbled into the garage. Tripping over the loose tools lying around as it made a beeline toward Dean.

Dean backed away, putting one of the cars between him and the monster as he made his way towards the far wall where all the larger tools were stored. He reached back when his back hit the bench near it, and grabbed the first heavy thing he could. All without taking his eyes off the creature as it rounded the car and came straight for him.

He held a wrench. A longer handled one, thank god.

"Alright," Dean's voice startled him. Hoarse and angry as he stopped running and met the thing straight on. Holding the wrench tightly in his right hand. "Alright, fucker, come on. Come on!"

The thing that used to be Jake lunged forward, picking up speed as it neared him. Dean didn't let it get close enough to touch him. Stepping to the side as he swung the wrench across it's back. Throwing it to the ground with bone rattling force. It squirmed and tried to twist towrd him. Hands grabbing at Dean's boots.

Dean kicked at the hands, hearing bones snap, and brought the wrench down again. Right on it's head. Again and again until it wasn't moving anymore. Until there was blood soaking into his top and not much left to hit. He backed up then and looked at the bloody mess of the wrench, but didn't drop it. He was breathing hard but the distant -and constant- sound of sirens cut through it.

Dean left the garage and the two corpses without a second look. Only one thought left in his head.

He had to find Sam.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Zombie AU.

Notes: Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

D.O.A.  
by Fairady

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The city's a madhouse by the time Dean makes it to campus.

All the main roads are clogged with traffic leaving the city. Cars and SUVs packed full of families with all their belongings tied on top. Dean goes under an overpass and can see that it's gridlocked, and changes his plans. He takes all back roads.

He passes through areas that look like they've been hit by a tornado. Houses and stores with windows smashed out from looters. Trash and other things he doesn't want to think about too closely littering the streets. He passes through neighborhoods that look untouched except for the few people he sees outside with boards and hammers. Barricading their homes like they really are expecting a tornado. Other neighborhoods are eerily empty of all signs of life.

Dean doesn't count the one figure he saw as a sign of life. It'd shuffled and swayed too much to be anything he'd consider human.

The radio's on but no music is playing. The DJ's just repeating the same spiel over and over again. Giving out the occasional update on traffic and effected areas. Warning about the signs of infection, the stages, and reminding everyone to stay calm.

Dean breaks after the fourth repeat of 'there's nothing to panic about,' and blindly grabs for a tape. Not giving a damn what it is as he shoves it in. Twisting the volume up until he can't hear the constant wail of sirens.

There's an honest to god checkpoint set up on the street Dean needs to go through to reach Sammy's crappy dorm room. Manned by what looks like Army men, and taking way too fucking long checking each vehicle and passenger. Dean peals left on what looks like a bike trail and mentally apologizes to his baby as he immediately hits a pothole from hell.

There's a weed choked parking lot, chained off from the street but not the trail, and Dean parks the Impala there. He's only a block away and the checkpoint is absolutely useless because Dean just circles around it on foot. He breaks into a jog when he reaches Sam's block.

Kids pour in and out of the building Sam's in. Some carrying all their worldly possessions with their ears glued to their cell phones. Others dart around with bottles in their hands, laughing like it's all a big party. Dean doesn't give a damn about either group. He's just thankful all the coming and going means he can get into the dorm. A problem he'd had to consider when he realized his stupid ass cell had broken earlier.

He doesn't consider the elevators -one clogged with a girl tugging out a futon, the other opening on a card table piled high with snacks and guys playing poker- just takes to the stairs and bitches his way up eight flights of stairs. Dodging and shoving people out of his way as needed.

Dean pounds on door number 815 looking at the dry erase board tacked up on it. A mass of penises drawn under the name Will, and one message from a girl named Jess for Sam to call her. It takes him about five seconds to take it all in, and another five for the creeping silence behind the door to get to him.

"Sam!" Dean pounds on the door again. Ignoring the uneasy looks of the two guys who scuttle down the hall carrying suitcases. Dean pounds even harder. Straining to listen for the slightest sound of movement inside. "Sam, open up!"

There's nothing from the room.

Not caring who else might be around, Dean pulls out a flathead screwdriver he'd grabbed from the trunk and sets it between the door and the jamb. The dorm has crappy ass locks that give way too easily when the right force an leverage are used. The door pops open with a crack and Dean wastes no time going into the empty room.

"Jesus, fuck!" Dean kicks an overturned hamper in frustration because of course Sam wouldn't be where he was supposed to be. Things just didn't go that easily for Dean.

A second glance around the room failed to turn up his giant ass of a brother, and it also failed to turn up the second most important thing to Sam. His laptop. Sam never went anywhere without the damn thing. He even brought it with him when they'd go meet to eat somewhere between Dean's work and Sam's classes.

Missing laptop, missing Sam.

Ok. Dean sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the short strands. Kid was smarter than he gave him credit for. He'd probably noticed shit was up long before Dean had. First thing he'd do would be try to call Dean. Which wouldn't have done him a whole shit lot of good. So, second step.

He'd go _find_ Dean.

Dean looked around the room more carefully. Looking for the phone he could've sworn he'd seen when he helped Sam move in. He found it on the floor wedged between the wall and a dresser that didn't want to shift enough for him to pull it all the way out. Dean had to take the receiver and awkwardly dial his home phone at an angle.

The phone rang without answer killing the little hope he'd had that Sam might already be there as the answering machine picked up. "Sam! Hey, bitch, I'm at your dorm and you're not here. I'm going to kick your ass for making me run around the city like this. So just stay where you are, I'm on my way out now."

Dean left the dorm, pulling the door somewhat shut behind him. Using his sleeve he wiped off the crudely drawn penises on the white board and left his own message for Sam.

'Sam. Stay put, cell broke, call me at home.-Dean'

He carefully drew a miniature penis with balls next to Sam's name before capping the marker and letting it drop. As he backtracked to the car Dean very carefully did not let himself think about what he'd do if he got home and there was no sign of Sam at all.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: Zombie AU.

Notes: Who'd want to stay put anyway?

D.O.A.  
by Fairady

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Sam doesn't call his brother.

Even as Will, his roommate, gets dragged off to evacuate the city with the rest of his family he doesn't call Dean. It's just overreaction. ("To the _dead_ rising?" Will had exclaimed looking incredulous as Sam scoffed at the idea.) Sam's sure that things will settle down soon, it's just like the SARs and swine flu thing. People getting worked up over a minor outbreak of _something _and making the problem much worse than it was with their panicking.

So, Sam doesn't call Dean when the news first breaks out about a new epidemic. He does call him to bitch about the change in library hours, but they don't talk about the strange sickness spreading across the country. He doesn't worry as the exact nature of the vaguely described epidemic is shown in full color on CNN. Doesn't think about much else but that paper he has due in two days as the number of effected city's slowly rises.

Things like this spread fast and then they're over. That's always been the way of it and Sam is confident something can be done to fix it. He washes his hands more assiduously and makes sure to steer clear of anyone who looks like they're sick as finals start creeping up. The talking heads on the news give out safety precautions and good news of vaccines in the making. Which is enough to ease any fears Sam might have had.

It's not until he wakes up one day and realizes he's on the other side of a blockade that Sam begins to think something might be truly wrong.

People gather around the windows in the rec room and their not so low buzz of conversation had been what woke Sam up. He peers over the group of nervously giggling girls and watches as what looks like the entire ROTC group set up roadblocks down the main road of campus.

Class, unsurprisingly, has been cancelled. The university blog cautions student to remain in their rooms and follow a set of precautionary measures. The local news pleads for drivers to be careful when leaving the city and to not panic. There's a few shots of police herding crowds downtown and not a whole lot else. Faced with a distinct lack of information Sam does what he should have done a week earlier.

Sam turns to Twitter.

The tweets are horrifying, 140 characters more than enough to get terror across. The Youtube links even worse, showing riots and looting and people tearing people apart. People _eating _people. Sam finally begins to realize just how uncontrolled things really are.

And Dean isn't answering his phone. Dean's cell rings until he gets the voicemail, his apartment phone goes straight to the answering machine, and his work phone gets only a busy tone.

Sam swallows down a frisson of fear. There's any number of explanations for why Dean wasn't answering any of his phones. Sam's thoughts aren't -despite what Dean might say- optimistic. Sam scrambles into a pair of boots and begins to pack his school bag.

Calling the cell again goes directly to voicemail and Sam's pacing as he waits for the tone to finish, "Dean! It's me. Look, I'm heading to your place, alright? So if you're at work just meet me there or something. Things aren't looking safe here. Call me if- Just call me." He leaves a variation of the same message on his answering machine before unplugging his laptop and packing it away.

Sam's one of the first people to leave the dorms that day.

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	4. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Missed posting a chapter.

D.O.A.  
by Fairady

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The drive back from campus was a nightmare. The city had only gotten worse as he ransacked Sam's dorm. Even the backroads he took coming in are getting choked up with traffic as people try their best to avoid the deadlocked traffic of evacuation. He tries his best to avoid it all, but it's a lost cause from the start. It's taking him twice as long to get even half way to his place in the traffic.

Dean's seriously considering pulling over and walking the rest of the way when he hits another checkpoint. Except this time he sees it too late and has to follow the flow of traffic as cops direct them into a shitty looking parking lot. Dean swears as one haggard looking man points the Impala into an empty spot between a mini-van and a heap of junk. People mill around in the garage, slowly making their way to the stairs. Dean says a mental apology to his baby as he turns her off and gets out.

It's as good a place as any to park her and take off on foot after all.

Dean follows the flow of people to a line of buses where the masses are being herded onto. He follows a large family up to one of the doors and breaks away at the last second. Circling around the front of the bus and into the street. Ignoring the startled shout of the officer who'd been doing headcounts for that bus as he broke into a run. Darting into a nearby alley. He runs for two blocks before slowing down because no one's chasing him.

Why would they? The city is in utter chaos around him.

Dean finds himself crossing streets that are at turns empty and crowded. He passes a few determined looters trying to lift a flatscreen TV onto the bed of a truck. A family warily circles around him as they pile into a car filled with luggage. The youngest girl looking at him with dark eyes from the safety of her mother's arms. Dean pauses at a traffic infested intersection. The people in the cars are all looking in the same direction with various degrees of horror on their faces, and Dean glances down the street they're looking.

Three blocks down people are streaming out of their cars, some not even stopping to turn them off as they run. Behind the growing mass of people he catches glimpses of staggering forms weaving through the traffic.

Dean doesn't wait to see more.

He jumps over the hood of a still car, ignoring the asshole who honks at him as he takes off. Running again, in a direction that takes him a little further away from home, but at least gets him out of the way of the forming mob and its chasers.

Chasers. Dean wants to laugh at the thought that any of those shambling forms he's seen could chase anything, but he's got Jake's dried blood still on him and Sam is out in the city somewhere.

Dean's five blocks further than he wants to be when he decides to cut back towards his apartment. He still knows where he is at least. More importantly, he knows what's around him.

Wales Guns is right where it's supposed to be. On the corner of 10th and Vermont, where he's passed it everyday he goes into work. Between the crowbar he'd taken from work and an actual gun, it's no contest which he'd prefer to have.

What's better is the place looks unlooted, if the presence of a man standing guard outside the door is any indication. The man looks like a bouncer, all big muscled arms and frowning attitude as he stands right in front of the shop. He turns that frown right onto Dean as soon as he spots him.

Shit. Dean pastes a smile on his face as he sizes the man up. Sure, he could take him, but it wouldn't be easy or fun or sane. He wondered how much money he had in his wallet as he stopped just out of arms reach, "Hey-"

"You get one gun," the bouncer interrupted before Dean could even say anything, "we chose and you take it. You take it and get the hell out of here. Understood?"

"I-" Dean blinked and really looked at the shop. Behind the big man he could see a tiny woman holding a bundle. Gray-haired and old enough to be his own grandma. Definitely _not_ one of the many people he'd seen hanging around the shop before. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

The man turned and the woman came out holding a shot gun. Dean gratefully took it from her and accepted the three boxes of shells she gave him. "Thanks."

"God bless you," the woman whispered as she disappeared back into the shop. The bouncer taking his position back squarely in front of the door, frown even more severe than before. Dean wondered how many people had tried to get more than what was being given out that day, and even with a gun Dean was re-evaluating his odds of taking the man.

"Thanks," Dean repeated as he backed away from the store. He waited until he was a block away to load the shotgun, and stow the extra shells away in whatever pocket they could fit in. It'd been a while since he last fired one, but that was the beauty of a shotgun. Precision wasn't necessary. He was confident enough in his ability to defend himself from those people —those _things_— that he stopped scouting each street before crossing it.

Which is why the next checkpoint surprises him.

This checkpoint is less heavily manned and the soldiers running it are more persistent. Dean darts back around the corner even as they shout for him to stop and give chase. He can hear the sound of boots pounding the ground. He has about three seconds to do somehting before they're around the corner, and he doesn't hesitate in running for the church.

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	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own not and make no money off of this.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Missed posting a chapter. See chapter four for the update.

D.O.A.  
by Fairady

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The sky was red and thick with smoke when Jimmy Novak stumbled out onto the chaos strewn streets. Panicked people flowed around him like a river, parting reluctantly around his erratically wandering form. He watched with dazed eyes as the world ended around him.

Fitting, as his world had ended hours earlier with the sharp crack of a poker.

Jimmy gasped and doubled over. Heaving up a thin stream of bile, everything else already having been thrown up earlier. Tears stung his eyes and he sank to his knees. Feeling them crack down hard on the concrete. The sound echoing in his ears until all he heard was the awful crack of a poker hitting flesh and smashing bone.

God! God forgive him.

A sob caught in his throat as he wiped ineffectually at the tears. Bringing his hands too close to his face and seeing, smelling the blood on them again. He gagged but nothing came up this time.

His wife, his daughter. Amelia, Claire. The things he'd done to them, the things they'd tried to do! It didn't make any sense to him. Hadn't made any sense since he woke up to find Claire dead in Amelia's arms. Dead because of Amelia.

Jimmy gasped and opened his eyes. Peering around him through tears, unsurprised to see the looming structure of the church before him. He scrambled to his feet and staggered forward. The urge to find sanctuary almost instinctual even as his mind tore itself apart.

The doors opened at a touch, admitting him into the empty building. The strangeness of an empty home of worship during the end days barely registered to him as he lurched down the aisle.

Jimmy knelt before the altar, unmindful of the ache in his knees or the sting in his eyes as he prayed. The words tumbled through his mind as his voice had long since given out from screaming. The candles, usually lit, had burned down to nubs leaving him with the wavering light of the sun through the stained glass windows.

He wondered who would come for him in his last moments.

Would it be Azrael? Coming to reap Jimmy's soul along with countless others as he frantically erased names in his book. Or would it be Sariel? The gentler angel who would usher him gently to his place. Would it matter who came for him? Who ushered him to his death?

In the end, it was neither of them.

The doors to the cathedral opened, and Jimmy was blinded by the light coming in. The light framing the angel that strode in without hesitation, crossing to the altar within seconds. Hands reached down and gripped his shoulders. Closing on him with a force that burned and brought tears to Jimmy's eyes. It was Thursday, and he was in the presence of the day's angel.

"Castiel," Jimmy croaked as he was picked up and shaken. Words, meaningless, poured around him and it felt like they sliced through him. They echoed and rebounded so loudly he feared he'd go deaf from them. Jimmy tried not to struggle against the angel even as dizziness flowed through him from the rough treatment. He tried to pray, to offer up whatever was needed, but all that came to his lips was a cracking name. "Cas-"

The angel's words grew louder. Splitting his head with pain that he welcomed. Jimmy felt his eyes roll back as darkness rushed up to take him.

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He woke up in total darkness. He laid on something hard and stared into it with no comprehension of what it meant. Something soft and warm covered him and he curled one hand into it, pulling it closer.

"Hey, you up yet?"

The voice was low and came from beside him. He looked and saw another man looking down at him. Tall with short hair, and a shotgun tucked up under one arm. He didn't recognize him, but the realization sent no shot of panic or fear through him.

A bottle was held out to him and he took it automatically. Not realizing how thirsty he was until the water hit his tongue. He drank it in greedy, quick gulps.

"Easy," the man reached out and took the bottle away. Lowering it and forcing him to breathe. "Last thing I want is you puking on me."

He glared until the bottle was handed back, but took the man's advice and drank more slowly. He didn't wonder where he was or who the man was. Didn't wonder why his mind was completely empty of anything. There was a feeling of contentment in the blankness of his memories, and the vague feeling that he was better off that way.

"Look, Castiel," the man grimaced as if he tasted something sour. "Hey, I'm just going to call you Cas. Less of a mouthful. Alright?"

He looked up at the man, and when it became apparent that some response was needed he nodded. The man grinned down at him and reached out to clap his shoulder.

"Great! So, Cas, I don't know how the hell those monsters haven't found us yet, and I'm not willing to trust my luck on it. Think you can keep up with me and get outta here?"

He nodded again and sat up. Cas. There was something right about that name. A dull pain radiated from his knees but he was able to bend them and stood up with only a slight wince. The shift from laying to standing brought out a sense of vertigo that quickly passed.

"Here," the man held out a crowbar. Dinged and rusty but a solid weight in his hands. The man shrugged, not at all apologetic, as Cas stared at him. "I only got one gun."

Cas accepted the crowbar. Bringing it up to inspect the tines on the end. There was a matted clump of flesh, still fresh, on the end that made his stomach quail. The man clapped his shoulder again, harder this time and started striding towards the back of the church they were in.

"Oh," the man stopped and turned back around quickly. Lips quirking up in a grin. "I'm Dean."

Cas blinked and stared at Dean until the man turned back to the large doors. He swallowed down his nausea and gripped the crowbar tight as he followed Dean. Something telling him that he would need this blunt weapon in the world outside.

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End file.
